Redemption

If I pass through Gethsemane
to writhe in cold, dark agony,
if Fear's hounds track me through the night
till like a wounded fawn in fright
I thrash through forests, strange, unknown,
that seem so far away from home,
would love in me grow weak and die?
would stones of hatred be piled high
to mark the plot, engraved by Shame,
"It was here that love at last was slain!"
Would my heart lie entombed, content,
or would the stones by Love be rent,
and Love o'er Hate triumphant pour
because the sting of death Christ bore?

Or if my love were crucified,
rejected, left to bleed and die,
if Sorrow pierced my fainting heart
with every bitter, burning dart,
I pray that love would stand the test;
that while my soul Grief did molest,
I would not stoop to hate the foe,
but yield to pain that Love might flow.
Would Love in me refuse to die
and live again though crucified?
Oh, that the seed felled by Hate's cry
through suffering would multiply
and rise to reap the greater store
because my Love your sorrows bore.

© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson

betrayalfearforgivenessgodprayerlyric

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